


Glass Between Us

by ProneToRelapse



Series: Waterways [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Forced Sterilisation, M/M, Mentions of Forced Breeding, Merperson Connor, graphic mutilation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 17:34:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15539442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProneToRelapse/pseuds/ProneToRelapse
Summary: Connor is lonely. Hank is kind.





	Glass Between Us

**Author's Note:**

> hi, yeah, i have no idea what the FUCK this is, but i wrote it anyway???
> 
> i've seen so many gorgeous artworks on twitter of mermaid aus and i guess this is the result of it??? I DON'T EVEN KNOW AT THIS POINT.
> 
> //Warning: There is a graphic scene of violence that occurs partway through after "The white-coats come for him in his sleep". it's kind of hard to describe without giving it away, but it's kind of... mutilation? hence the tags, which, if anyone wants to skip, they can, it doesn't really take anything away from the story.

Soft sunlight filtered through wide windows throws prisms of fractured light into the water, patterns glinting prettily along the surface in small ripples. Connor watches with a lazy sense of distraction, curled in on himself and head pillowed on his arms. There isn’t much else for him to occupy himself with, so watching the light dance is one of his only outlets for the heavy boredom he feels.  

 

If he wasn’t feeling so lethargic today, he might have been willing to try a few lazy laps of the tank, but the whole thing is so barren. There’s nothing to play with. And judging by the fact that he hasn’t seen a single face pass by the glass since yesterday, there’s no one to talk to, either.  

 

His tail twitches in frustration, bubbles filtering out from beneath his fins as it moves. The water is too warm. Whoever checked the heater last night didn’t do a very good job.  

 

“Why so forlorn, pet?” 

 

Connor looks up at the man leaning over the top of his tank. In spite of himself, Connor smiles and quickly flits up to breach the surface, hands reaching up to grasp the glass tank edge and haul himself out of the water. His wet curls receive an affectionate ruffle and his tail twines happily beneath him.  

 

“Elijah,” Connor murmurs, leaning into the soft caress of his hair. “Gone.” 

 

“I know,” Elijah says softly, brushing a warm palm over Connor’s cheek. “I’m sorry we’ve been away for so long. You’ve not been too lonely, have you?” 

 

“Yes,” Connor says somewhat petulantly. Since Elijah had taken away his tank mates, Connor’s hardly seen hide nor hair of any humans, save the slow trickle that sometimes pass by his tank. “Markus?” 

 

“Markus has a new home now, Connor. But Chloe will be home soon. That’s good, isn’t it?” 

 

Connor sinks a little lower into the water, crestfallen. Markus had been the most fun. He liked to race Connor around the tank. They hadn’t even had a chance to say goodbye… 

 

“Oh, please don’t pout so, pet.” Elijah croons, brushing a thumb over Connor’s lips. “You know I hate to see you sad. I promise Chloe will be back soon. Just a little longer, okay?” 

 

Connor dips his head in an imitation of Elijah’s affirmation. “Yes,” he says, trying his best to smile.  

 

“That’s my boy,” Elijah says with a beam.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Whenever Elijah leaves for a while, the white-coated humans drain Connor’s tank until there’s only a few shallow inches of water left and Connor cannot swim away. They come for him with strange masks covering their face, and strike him with the long steel pole when he hisses. The pole scares him now. Before he fought viciously, spines extension and sharp teeth bared. He spat venom in the face of one of them before and he had felt the shocking burn of the pole searing into his entire body. He hates it so much that he doesn’t spit anymore, just lets them clamp his wrists and his tail, lets them carry him out of his tank, into the gleaming white room where they’ll cut into him with hot knives and sharp needles.  

 

He just lies there now. He doesn’t fight it, even though he cries and screeches because it  _hurts_ , but they never stop. They’ve stolen so many of his spines, drained his sacks of venom to see how long it takes them to grow back and refill. They’ve made him ingest his own toxins to see if they harm him, they’ve scraped away his pretty silver scales, cut at his pale blue fins. He always weeps when they do, but they never show him mercy. The first time they cut his fins so badly he couldn’t swim for so many days. The water had been stained with so much of his blood he could taste it.  

 

They do this every time Elijah leaves, and Connor can’t find the words or the signs to tell him.  

 

“Specimen RK800,” one of the white-coats says. Connor watches him through watery eyes, blinking away tears. “What is your name?” 

 

Connor lifts his wrists as best he can in the shackles, moving his fingers into the signs Elijah has taught him.  

 

 _Connor._  

 

“How old are you?” 

 

 _Thirty-five thousand tide shifts_ _._  

 

“Who is your owner?” 

 

 _Elijah Kamski._  

 

“What species are you?” 

 

 _Fuck you._  

 

Every time the answer is the same. Even this, the bite of the pole will not train out of him. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Connor remembers all of his tank mates by their favourite things. He keeps them hidden away inside a small, hollowed recess in the stone grotto where he sleeps. Part of him wishes they could have taken them when they left, but he likes having the memories when he misses them too much.  

 

Simon had been taken first. He had been shy but sweet and he’d liked to draw patterns in the sand that lay on the bottom of their tank. He was the first of them to learn to speak as he humans do. He left behind a small scale that had belonged to his tidemother. It glistens like a sapphire in Connor’s palm when he holds it. It makes him sad to look at.  

 

Josh had left his sea glass. He had told Connor he’d found it when he’d gotten too close to the shore as a whelp and it had been jagged and sharp. Now it’s smooth and red as a ruby.  

 

North had gone shorty after Josh and had left her favourite shark tooth. Connor doesn’t like to think about how it had been covered in her blood when he’d found it in the white room, left on the table just close enough for him to snatch up while the white-coats talked among themselves.  

 

He has nothing of Markus’ or Chloe’s. He wishes he did, but Chloe is supposed to be coming home soon, so he doesn’t have to miss her for long.  

 

But Markus… He’d never had a favourite thing. Said he didn’t need one. So Connor only has memories of their talks and the races Markus always used to let him win.  

 

Connor wonders if Chloe is ever really going to come home, if the others really are out there in their new homes with new families and no white-coats. But whenever anybody is taken through those doors across from Connor’s tank, he’s learned he’ll never see them again. He hates that door. It separates him from his friends.  

 

Connor is secretly doubtful his friends are still alive, but Elijah wouldn’t lie to him.  

 

The shark tooth bites into Connor’s palm when he clutches it too hard.  

 

No, Elijah wouldn’t lie.  

 

 

 

 

When Connor swims out of his grotto into the sunlight that means he’ll be fed, there is a strange human standing in front of his tank. 

 

He has long silver hair that reminds Connor of his shoal elder, except the human’s is tied back away from his face, though he still has fur covering his cheeks and chin. His face is lined heavily, but he looks strong, tall and broad. He would make a good fighter, if he were a water-breather.  

 

The man takes a hesitant step closer, one hand slowly rising so he can brush his fingertips against the glass front of the tank. His eyes are very wide, and very, very blue. Connor finds he likes the colour very much. He wants to swim closer, to greet the stranger properly, but he has a feeling that if he moves too fast he may well frighten the human away. So he stays where he is, tail flicking idly back and forward while the human watches him intently.  

 

He sees the human’s mouth move and recognises most of the words, though they’re obscured by a beard Connor isn’t used to. The message is clear enough.  

 

 _“What are you?”_  

 

Connor raises a hand slowly, fingers curling. He doesn’t know if the human will understand – hardly any of the others do save for Elijah – but he tries anyway. Slowly, clearly, he curls his fingers and thumb into the spelling sign for ‘C’, following it with a complete curl into an ‘O’, then loosening it into an ‘N’. 

 

 _C-O-N-N-O-R._  

 

He signs the name slowly. The man’s eyes somehow grow even wider. What he mouths next Connor almost misses, but he catches two words which are enough.  

 

 _“Understand me?”_  

 

Connor nods and finally allows himself to drift a little closer. The man doesn’t shy away so Connor keeps moving until he’s less than a foot away from the glass. He reaches out his own hand, placing his palm against the glass, right where the human’s is splayed. The man looks at their hands, almost pressed together if the tank wasn’t separating them. Connor smiles, tail flicking happily.  

 

The man, tentatively, smiles back. He looks incredibly unsure so Connor points up at the observational walkway. The man tilts his head up to follow Connor’s wordless suggestion and understanding lightens his features. He moves away from the glass and heads to the stairs that lead up the far side of Connor’s tank. Once he’s halfway up, Connor follows, gliding up to the surface until the top half of his face is peeking out of the water.  

 

“Hello,” the human murmurs softly. Connor offers him a slow blink. His spines are retracted, he’s not displaying any territorial behaviour, yet the human still looks uneasy.  

 

Maybe he’s a bit stupid. Connor feels a twinge of sympathy and rises a little higher out of the water. “Hello,” he mimics slowly, the way the white-coated humans do when they order him to perform their silly, painful games.  

 

“You can talk?” 

 

“Yes.” 

 

“Jesus Christ.” The human rubs a hand over his whiskery face. “What  _are_  you? I’m not hallucinating, am I?” 

 

What an amusing human. Connor inches closer. “Connor,” he says, long and slow.  

 

“That’s your name?” 

 

“Yes.” 

 

“And the signing thing you did earlier?” 

 

“Can’t hear me underwater.” 

 

The human makes a strange huffing sound. “Yeah, that checks out.” He inches closer to the tank edge. So does Connor. “I’m Hank.” 

 

Connor takes a moment to process the name, returns it slowly, rolling the new sound over his tongue. “Hank,” he parrots, raising a hand to extend two fingers, slowly spelling the name back to Hank.  

 

“That’s cute,” Hank says. “Even if this whole thing is fuckin’ insane.” He’s leaning on the tank wall now. Connor is so close he could reach out and touch him. But he won’t. The memory of the hot sparks of the pole keep him from trying.  

 

“Here,” Connor says. “Why?” 

 

“Me?” 

 

“You.” 

 

“Oh, uh. I’m a security guard. You know what that is?” 

 

“No.” Connor shakes his head.  

 

“I make sure nothing bad happens here. That no one gets hurt.” 

 

Connor frowns. A lot of people get hurt here. Especially when Elijah goes away. The white-coat human’s are always hurting him. But maybe now Hank is here, that will stop. He really hopes so.  

 

“Play?” Connor asks eagerly, giving a little spin in the water.  

 

“Play what?” 

 

Connor points to the box at the end of the walkway. Hank looks over and steps across to inspect it. He pulls Connor’s favourite ball out, testing the weight in his hands. “This?” He asks, and Connor lets out a few excited clicks in reply. Hank gives a small smile and tosses it into the water. Connor dives after it, catching it in both hands and darting up out of the water to toss it back. Hank laughs and catches it easily, throwing it further down the length of the tank and Connor knifes through the water, flipping up through the surface to catch it.  

 

His pulse races as he speeds after the ball that Hank throws longer and farther each time, changing directions to try and catch Connor out. Connor can’t stop the happy clicks he keeps chirping out, but Hank doesn’t seem to mind. He’s smiling, cheeks a little flushed, and Connor very much wants to touch him.  

 

He brings the ball back, pulling himself up out of the water with one hand on the glass divider. Hank takes the ball when it’s passed and tosses it back into the box in favour of leaning on the railing and watching Connor.  

 

“So these folks keeping you guys safe? Preservation and all that?” 

 

Connor tilts his head. He doesn’t know about preservation, not now that he and Chloe are the last here and he’s yet to see any other of their kind arrive. He frowns, thinking of how empty his tank feels without the others.  

 

“They’re not hurting you, are they?” 

 

Connor opens his mouth to explain, but Hank spins round before he can, muttering sharply under his breath.  

 

“Fuck, I gotta go.” He throws Connor a glance that Connor doesn’t understand and hurries down the stairs. Connor chirps after him but he doesn’t turn back, just heads through the door that Connor hates.  

 

And he’s alone again once more. Connor scowls and speeds off into a few furious laps of the entire tank before he returns to his grotto to sulk.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Elijah returns a few days after the strange human leaves. He tries to coax Connor up to the surface of the water, but Connor drapes himself over his favourite rock and ignores him. Elijah does everything he can to get Connor’s attention, even releases a wild salmon into the tank, but Connor just watches the fish shoot off towards the other end of the tank without so much as twitching his tail.  

 

Connor is lonely. Elijah won’t tell him when Chloe is coming home, so Connor won’t talk to Elijah at  _all._ He feels a little guilty when Elijah chirrups sadly at him, but Connor stays resolute in his silence until his owner gives up and descends the stairs, giving the glass one last little tap before walking away. Connor rests his chin on his folded arms and resumes watching the light play over the surface of the water. 

 

There’s another tap at the glass a little while later and Connor turns, teeth bared, to hiss Kamski away. He stops short when he sees Hank standing at the glass, a half smile on his face and something in his left hand. He raises his right and, very slowly, curls his fingers.  

 

 _Hello, Connor._  

 

Connor beams and darts up to the glass, both hands pressed against it. Hank grins and places a palm up to Connor’s briefly before pointing up at the decking. Connor nods eagerly and Hank heads up the stairs. As soon as he’s at the railing Connor slices up through the water in a magnificent somersault, spraying water everywhere as he flips through he air before diving neatly back into the water. When he surfaces again Hank is laughing, perched on the edge of the railing.  

 

“I’m sorry I ran off on you,” he says, unwrapping the thing in his hand. “I’m not actually supposed to be in here. I mainly watch the reception and the labs.” 

 

Connor doesn’t know what that means, but he chirrups anyway to show he understands. “Hank,” he says happily, wriggling like an eel.  

 

Hank breaks off a piece of whatever he’s holding and holds it out on an open palm to Connor. “Figured you’d be better lunch company than the others. The scientists here creep me out. To be honest, so does that Kamski fella.” 

 

Connor wants to ask what that means, but he reaches out for the small brown square in Hank’s palm. He sniffs it, doesn’t recognise the smell, and looks up at Hank for clarification.  

 

“You eat it,” Hank says. “Just a small piece, though. I really don’t wanna make you sick, but everyone’s gotta try chocolate.” 

 

“Chocolate,” Connor echoes, lifting the square to his mouth. He pops it in, eyes widening as he bites into it. It’s smooth, very sweet, very pleasant to bite into. He likes it a lot and gives a happy few clicks to let Hank know that. The human grins at him and pops a piece of the chocolate into his own mouth.  

 

“Got a bit of a sweet tooth,” Hank says. “Don’t tell anyone, okay?” 

 

Connor chirps. “Play?” 

 

“I’ll take that as promise of your silence. You wanna play with the ball again?” 

 

Connor twirls through the water with an excited screech.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hank visits him more often, stopping by for a little while more frequently until he comes by every other day. He always brings a square of chocolate for Connor, and sometimes a book that Connor will listen to Hank read though he only understands every few words. Hank will always stop and explain them if Connor asks, which he appreciates very much. It’s not long before Hank’s visits become the highlight of Connor’s day, and not long after that Connor starts to understand more human speech until they can converse a lot easier.  

 

“Where did you come from?” Hank asks one day, sleeves rolled up and arms in the water so Connor can show him his collection of gems that Elijah gifted him. “Or have you always been here?” 

 

“The coldest ocean,” Connor says. “There was ice everywhere. Sometimes I liked to sit up on them and look at the… the lights in the sky?” 

 

“Stars?” 

 

“Yes. I like them, very much.” 

 

“I like stars, too. How did you end up here?” 

 

Connor fiddles with a shard of opal, rubbing his thumb over the smoothed edge. “I was hunting. Too far away from my shoal. I was caught in a… A big thing like this.” He crosses his fingers together, knitting them like the great human contraption that had snapped him up.  

 

“A net, I think? Scooped you out of the water?” 

 

“Yes. The humans put something in me that made me sleep. When I woke up, I was here with Elijah. He said he saved me, though I didn’t understand him at the time.” 

 

“How long ago was that?” 

 

“I don’t know. I can’t count the tides from here.” 

 

“Can’t he let you go home?” 

 

Connor has never asked. Elijah has been kind to him, kept him safe. He would be betraying that kindness if he asked to leave. Even though all his friends are gone and he is alone now, save for Hank. Even Elijah has been away for longer than he ever has before.  

 

“This is my home,” Connor says quietly.  

 

Hank offers him another square of chocolate. “Just this once,” he says, closing one of his eyes briefly and smiling. Connor doesn’t understand that human expression but he finds he likes it. “Because I don’t like seeing you sad.” 

 

“Thank you,” Connor says, offering Hank a piece of amethyst as a trade.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

The white-coats come for him while he sleeps. He doesn’t know they’ve come until cold air stings his gills as the water drains and cold metal is clamped around his wrists. He doesn’t struggle. He lets them carry him away like always, but his body tenses against the soon-to-come pain.  

 

They take him to another white room this time. One he’s never seen before. They strap him to a different table, flat on his back with his tail restrained and his arms shackled above his head. This is new and he doesn’t like it. He’s always on his side in the other room so they can cut off the spines from his back and steal his blood. He’s never been on his back before.  

 

The white-coats are talking but they’re sill words he doesn’t understand. He lies there, trembling and terrified, while they talk in those low, horrible voices.  

 

“…RT600 is ready for breeding…” 

 

“…Compatible samples…” 

 

“…RK200 autopsy proves…” 

 

“…Upper pelvic region…” 

 

“…Disinfect the area and make the incision…” 

 

Something is shoved into Connor’s mouth. It’s rough against his tongue and tastes like dead flesh but it’s hard between his teeth, only giving slightly when he bites into it. His gills burn as he tries to filter the moisture from the air in the room, but it’s not enough to quell the dizziness, even though he fights to see what they’re doing.  

 

A white-coat steps up to his side, something small and silver and sharp in one white hand. He places his empty hand on the upper part of Connor’s abdomen, flat over the scales, and pushes down. Connor hisses around the thing in his mouth, trying to thrash away from the unwanted contact but he’s held fast. Trapped.  

 

The sharp thing slowly descends and Connor realises what’s going to happen a split second before it actually does. Silver bites into his scales, slipping under them to scrape the skin back and he  _screeches_ , writhing against his bonds as the white-coat butchers him, cutting into his flesh and peeling back muscle and sinew and scale to expose the most intimate part of him.  

 

He weeps and hisses, choking out pained cries as he tries to fight, no matter how useless it is. Tears spill down his cheeks, wetness gathering in his ears and he can’t bear it. These strangers, these  _monsters,_ reaching into his body to take what isn’t theirs.  

 

Something hot and tight coils in Connor’s stomach amid the pain and he hates it, the burn that isn’t quite a burn, as the white-coat delves inside of him, searching for Connor’s sheath. The white-coat finds it, tugs and cuts it away, removing it and placing it in a tray, spilling Connor’s blood all over the table. He sobs, biting down on the thing in his mouth, trembling against the agony that’s burning him inside and out.  

 

They’ve stolen his eggs. The hatchlings he’ll never be able to have. They’ve stolen them from him and he  _hates_  them for it. He hates them so much he’s choking on it and his mouth flood with venom he wants to spit but can’t past the stupid rough thing gagging him.  

 

Something scratches his side and his vision goes dark, the pain easing into a low throb as he loses consciousness, sinking into blissful oblivion from the grief and the agony.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

Connor’s has grotesque scars on the front of his tail, just above the sheath that protects his genitals. The scales have been ripped away and he’s been haphazardly patched together with some sort of wiry substance that tugs painfully at his skin. He can’t swim far or too fast or else his blood starts to seep from the wound and he gets dizzy. He spends most of his time now curled up in his grotto, weeping for the hatchlings the white-coats stole from him.  

 

He hears tapping against the glass.  

 

If it is Elijah, Connor is going to spit venom in his face. Let the white-coats hurt him. He has nothing now. Let them come and kill him. He will go down fighting.  

 

But it’s not Elijah.  

 

It’s Hank.  

 

Sweet, kind Hank whose eyes widen in horror when he sees Connor’s injuries. He drops his bag, chocolate and books spilling out onto the floor and he races up to the observation deck, leaning far over the railing. Connor swims up slowly to meet him, wincing with ever twitch of his tail.  

 

“Oh my god, Connor, what happened?” Hank reaches for him and Connor lets Hank scoop him up, lift him out of the water and into his lap. He doesn’t seem to care that Connor is soaking him, just holds him while Connor says against his chest, suddenly more exhausted than he’s ever been in his life.  

 

“The white-coats,” Connor murmurs. “They come for me every so often. They do things, take my blood, my spines, my venom. They ask me questions, they hurt me… They…” Connor places a hand over the wound on his abdomen. “This time, they… They stole my… I c-can’t…” 

 

Hank rocks him slowly while Connor weeps against his shirt. He cries until both his tears and his skin run dry, until there’s nothing left inside him except rage and pain.  

 

“They stole my eggs,” Connor finally says. “Males of my species carry their eggs in a pouch inside of them. When we mate, we pass them to the female for incubation and birth. And they’ve… they’ve taken mine. They’ve taken my hatchlings away from me.” 

 

Hank strokes his hair softly. “Have they been hurting you all this time? Does Kamski know?” 

 

Connor nods sadly. “I think… I think he allows it to happen.” 

 

Hank nods slowly. “When the sky outside the windows is dark, swim as far to the other end of your tank as you can, okay? Can you do that?” 

 

“I think so. Why?” 

 

“I know you have no reason to, but trust me, okay, Connor?” 

 

“I trust you, Hank.” 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Connor waits until long after the sky has darkened. He waits and waits and waits, staring out at the small smattering of stars he can see from here. It isn’t a lot, but it’s something at least. Even if there’s still no sign of Hank. He wants to swim circles to calm himself, but the ache in his tail is too much for him to do anything other than lie on the tank bed and wait and wait and wait.  

 

The water in his tank hums. He feels the shift against his skin. Something is happened and his heart speeds up, thudding against his ribs as he sits up. The water hums again, vibrating with a rich, deep sound that makes Connor’s head pound. He hears the faint echo of splintering glass and the humming finally stops.  

 

Then nothing.  

 

Then  _everything._  

 

The water in his tank sweeps him along in a manufactured rip tide as it gushes out through an almighty crack through the glass container. He scrambles for purchase on rocks and foliage, screeching as he’s torn towards the jagged shards of the ruined tank. He sweeps head over fins, caught in the current, until something broad and firm sweeps him up and he blinks, disorientated, up into the blue eyes of Hank.  

 

“Feel like spitting venom at some white-coats?” He asks.  

 

Connor clutches at him, baring his teeth in a feral smile.  

 

Hank has three other humans with him. None of them seem phased by Connor but he’s too frightened to question it. Hank bundles him up in some sort of human fabric and holds him tight in his arms as they hurry through the door that Connor hates, down darkened halls and past other white rooms. Hank’s heartbeat is steady in his chest, and Connor places a palm over it to feel the reassuring thump against his skin.  

 

“Almost there,” Hank says, breathing even. “We’re gonna get you out of here, okay? Then you can go home.” 

 

 _Home._  

 

That word doesn’t bring the reassurance it might have once. Connor wonders if there’s any chance Hank will let him stay.  

 

“Anderson!” Another human calls, dark skinned and broad. “We found another. She’s… she’s dead, though. Badly butchered.” 

 

Connor closes his eyes. He knows.  _Chloe._  

 

“Shit,” Hank hisses. “Alright. Blow the place. Let’s get the fuck out of here.” 

 

The air is frigid when they get outside, but Hank doesn’t slow, just keeps going until he’s hauling Connor and himself up into a black box on wheels and crouching down with Connor in his arms. 

 

“Ben, floor it!” Hank yells and they lurch into motion, terrified clicks stuttering out of Connor’s throat. Hank shushes him gently, stroking his hair.  

 

“I’m sorry,” Hank says softly. “I’m sorry about the other… About the… um.” 

 

“Chloe,” Connor says, eyes screwed shut. “Her name was Chloe. I believe… Elijah was trying to force her to carry my hatchlings. Possibly to sell them and… I don’t know what else.” He shivers and Hank pulls the fabric tighter around him.  

 

“You’re safe now,” Hank murmurs. “You’ll be free, soon.” 

 

 _Free…_  

 

Connor isn’t sure what that means any more.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The thundering contraption – truck, Hank had called it – slows to a stop and Hank shakes Connor gently into wakefulness.  

 

“Are you ready?” Hank murmurs as Connor carefully unfurls his tail. “We’re on the coastline. I know it’s not where you came from, but all oceans meet eventually.” 

 

“I…” Connor swallows, rubbing at his sore gills. “I want to stay with you.” 

 

Hank shakes his head. “I’m sorry. That’s not an option, Connor. I haven’t got anywhere for you. And you don’t belong to me.” 

 

“I don’t want to leave you,” Connor insists. “You’re the only one who’s shown me true kindness. I… I want to be with you always.” 

 

Hank smiles a little sadly. “You’ve gotta go, Connor. You’ve got to be free.” Hank lifts him into his arms and Connor clutches as tightly as he can. He doesn’t want to let go. He can’t. He won’t. Hank will have to break his fingers to make him let go.  

 

The sky outside is blushing pink as night turns to morning. Connor refuses to look at the sea he can hear whispering temptingly on the wind. He stares at Hank’s face, at those aged lines and those icy eyes, committing it all to memory.  

 

“Connor,” Hank says, kneeling at the shoreline. “It’s time to let go.” 

 

“I don’t want to,” Connor says.  

 

“This isn’t goodbye,” Hank tells him. “I promise.” 

 

Connor’s fingers loosen on his shirt. “What do you mean?” 

 

“I mean what I said, alright? Trust me.” 

 

Connor lets go and the cool, long-missed familiarity of salt water brushes the tips of his fins as Hank lowers him into the water. He shudders at he feel of it, the seductive call home of a lover. Hank brushes his fingers gently over Connor’s cheek.  

 

“Trust me,” he says again.  

 

Connor lunges forward before the tide catches him, crushing their lips together in a searing kiss.  

 

“I trust you,” Connor whispers against his lips and is gone with the next drag of the waves.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The water in Connor’s lungs feels like home and safety. He dives as deep as he can, rips the stupid human wire out of his abdomen as soon as the wound heels. He still aches sometimes, but he can still swim far and fast again. He can still hunt, still fight, and his spines grow back slender and beautiful once more.  

 

He doesn’t stray too far from the shore he left Hank on, but many tides pass and there’s no sign of the human.  

 

Connor considers trying to find his way to his true home. Back to his shoal, his clutchmates.  

 

He doesn’t know the way. And he can’t seem to leave the shore behind.  

 

He misses Chloe. He misses Markus and Josh and Simon and North. He misses Hank. He misses them all. He misses them fiercely and painfully which is why he can’t stray far and makes his new home a little grotto beneath an old pier. He’s not safe this close to humans, but he doesn’t care. He’s strong again, and ready. If they come for him, he will fight.  

 

And the they do come for him.  

 

But only one.  

 

One whose icy eyes Connor would know anywhere.  

 

But those aren’t the eyes of a human. Too blue, too wide, they peer out of the silvery, whiskered face of a water-breather. Just like Connor.  

 

“I told you,” the creature says, all sharp teeth and glinting eyes. “That it wasn’t goodbye.” 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
